You Had Me At Bonjour

Wish I knew what people wear to aperitif parties in France. Dressy? Casual? Come as you are? No, definitely not the last. I don’t know Eliosa very well but I do recognise her as someone who always makes an effort to look her best. Remembering her offer of finding me a French lover, I’m more than a little apprehensive about tomorrow evening. I just hope none of her male friends have been primed to offer their services. At least the invitation is for seven o’clock not five o’clock.

26th February.

Thankfully all the men, with one exception, at Eliosa’s tonight had their femmes firmly attached to their sides like limpets, determined to keep them from so much as clinking glasses with this strange, on her own, English woman. This, despite the fact that they were all, with the one exception, well into their seventies. Alone I might be, but desperate I’m not.

The lone exception made no effort to socialise with me and stood clutching his pink champagne, staring moodily out to sea.

‘Zat is my nephew Nino,’ Eliosa said. ‘The family ask him to look out for me when he is here.’ She shook her head. ‘He is not good dictionary for you. He is all at sea.’

Nino clearly had the ears of a hawk because he turned at her words and made his way over to us. ‘Merci for the champagne Tante Eliosa. Duty calls. Look after yourself.’ He kissed her goodbye, gave me a brief smile and left. Shame really. At least he was in the right age group.

‘All at sea?’ I asked Eliosa.

‘He is the capitane of a yacht. At sea more than ashore,’ she said.

I’d asked Jacques what the etiquette was with aperitif parties and he’d reckoned one should stay no longer than an hour, so at eight I said goodbye to everyone, thanked Eliosa and returned to my own apartment across the landing.

Standing out on my tiny balcony watching the rest of the world living their lives, it hit me again how completely alone I am in a foreign country. The evenings are the loneliest. It’s fine to do daytime activities like shopping or going to a conversation class alone – but evenings are different.

Evenings are for couples to stroll along hand-in-hand, enjoying each other’s company, pointing out things of interest, relaxing, meeting up with other couples.

What the hell am I doing down here? I could be back home planning a spa weekend away with Bella. Enjoying some retail therapy with Katie. I’d probably have found myself a new job and a new home by now and be busy settling in and getting it to my liking. Instead I’m down here… “Mrs Bertha No Mates”. A life with no real purpose.

I watched the lights twinkling along the shoreline as traffic wove its way along the bord de mer, to-ing and fro-ing between Cannes or Cap d’Antibes. It might only be February but the pavement restaurants had plenty of customers enjoying meals and wine under the warmth of industrial gas heaters. People were out there living their lives. People with friends. People with a purpose.

I grabbed my jacket and went out, determined to lose myself in all that action. Become a part of the scene to another casual onlooker.

27th February.

Usually the only bar or cafe I go to is Jacques’, but last night I wasn’t up to being continually questioned about Bella. Honestly, he’s obsessed. Even got me to post a Valentine’s card for him. He wanted her address really but I wasn’t sure about that, so I offered to post it for him. I won’t think about the fact that La Poste didn’t deliver any Valentine’s cards for me this year. Can’t think why.

I walked past Jacques’ cafe and made for the other end of Juan. Found an empty table at a bistro opposite the Casino entrance, treated myself to a carafe of house red and settled down to watch the comings and goings of the glamorous twenty-first century Gatsby set. And boy, weren’t they glamorous.

Luxury cars, designer clad women – well girls mainly – clutching the arms of tuxedo wearing men. Didn’t spot any celebrities – maybe need to go to Cannes or Monaco for that, but it was a fun people-watching session.

Walking back to the apartment an hour or so later I felt better. More energised and focused on making my life down here work. Window shopping in the various designer boutiques that line the main street of Juan-les-Pins, I saw an advert for a part-time assistant for the season in one of them. Part-time would be fine for me so I’m thinking of applying. Working would put some routine and purpose into my life.

Worrying about Katie and the Ben situation isn’t going to solve anything. She’s twenty, currently at college and living her own life. Once she’s finished college this summer and gets a job she’ll want her own place anyway. She’s very unlikely to want to live with me when I get back and buy somewhere.

Haven’t done any of the exploring I promised myself I would do yet, so Friday I’m going to take a train ride along the coast to Italy and go to the market in Ventimiglia. I’m told it’s the market to go to down here. Might even indulge in some proper retail therapy, rather than just window shopping.

Thank God February is a short month. With a bit of luck things will start to perk up during March, especially when we get to Easter.

Whatever you call it – having a gap year, or doing a Shirley Valentine – it’s turning out to be a lot harder than I thought it was going to be. But then Shirley Valentine was fiction and this is my reality. And let’s face it, Tom Conti is hardly likely to turn up in my life is he?

MARCH

The train to Italy was packed but it was a lovely journey along the coast, watching the glittering surface of the ever-moving Mediterranean out of one window and the countryside out of the other.

I managed to grab a window seat and enjoyed daydreaming about the villas and apartments we flashed past. Small bijou cottages, large tower blocks, lavish villas… they’re all here along this bit of coastline. We passed the famous Baie des Anges with its marina and apartment blocks built to resemble waves. Too modern for me, I decided. I’m definitely a Belle Epoque villa type of girl. In my dreams!

The tunnel from Cap d’Ail down into Monaco seemed endless. As the train finally pulled into Monaco I was half tempted to get off and spend the day there exploring, but decided to stick with my original plan.

Ventimiglia market is huge. I found it quite disorientating. So many people jostling to find a bargain. Lots of kitchen equipment, leather, pasta, handbags, cheese, clothes, oh you name it there was a stall selling it. I could have spent a fortune. There was one pair of leather shoes that positively had my name on them.

Stupidly I’d forgotten to take a shopping basket, so I treated myself to a straw one to hold the pasta, the olives, the Parmesan cheese and some lovely shiny aubergines I couldn’t resist buying. I did resist a fake Chanel handbag though – something I was glad about on the way home.

Had lunch in a lovely restaurant with a covered terrace overhanging the edge of the beach. I was surrounded by Italian and French families and the noise level was unbelievable. Italians are so vocal when they get together. Luckily the waiter spoke a bit of both French and English so I managed to ask questions and order the food I wanted. And a glass of Prosecco, of course.

The main course was good – tagliatelle with basil – but O.M.G. the tiramisu dessert was to die for. Promised myself I’d be strict for the rest of the week to make up for all the calories I was eating.

The train journey home was exciting. We were raided by the customs contraband police – would you believe!

Seeing the faces of the women on the train as they watched the police tear apart their recent purchases with sharp knives, I was so glad I hadn’t succumbed to temptation and bought that fake Chanel handbag. Eliosa had warned me about buying stuff like that when I told her I was coming here.

‘It’s not worth the risk,’ she’d said. ‘Save up for the real thing.’ At least my cheap straw basket was safe from the knife wielding cops.

6th March.

I’m really not sure about this conversation class I’ve been going to for the past few weeks. If it doesn’t improve soon I think I’ll drop out.

I seem to spend all my time talking – in English – to Colette, who is desperate to improve her English so she can get a job in London, where apparently “eet is all ‘appening.”

There are two or three English couples there who treat the morning as an excuse for a gossipy catch-up and a bitch about their French neighbours. Been tempted to ask them “if you don’t like it, why don’t you go home?” So far I’ve managed to restrain myself.

The two French women I try to talk to don’t understand my accent so that gets pretty fraught. Beginning to think I need a more structured class with a teacher setting pages of verb homework to be learnt. One to one tuition. Must pluck up the courage to ask Marc if he can recommend anyone. I’ve been avoiding asking him anything since my faux pas with le cinq à sept.

I keep thinking about Eliosa’s sleeping dictionary suggestion. Finding one of those though, even if I wanted one, is clearly not going to happen in a hurry. It’s not as if I can walk into the local bookshop, find the section marked “Dictionaries” and have a selection to pick one from.

Seen Nino visiting Eliosa a couple of times this month. Nice that he keeps an eye on her, although it always seems to be very brief visits. I guess he’s busy with the yacht.

Walked home via the market after the class and bought some red geraniums for the roof terrace pots and a couple of trailing white ones for the balcony baskets. Finally bumped into the Swedish woman from the garden flat in the entrance hall. After we’d introduced ourselves, Lotta invited me in for a coffee.

7th March.

Turns out Lotta’s a life coach and a keen gardener. Her garden is an oasis of calm and immediately had me nostalgic for my – soon to be Samantha’s – garden. Lotta’s lived here for five years and speaks four languages fluently – Swedish obviously, English, French and Italian. We seemed to be on the same wavelength from the word go, and I found myself telling her about my split with Ben and how worried I was about Katie.

Maybe it’s just that she’s easy to talk to, but I even found myself voicing the fact that I was considering giving up on my gap year and going home. I feel a bit old to be taking a gap year if I’m honest.

Her advice was simple and to the point: get rid of the negative thoughts; concentrate on getting on with life down here. You’re only here for a short time so make the best of it – don’t waste time worrying. There are heaps of opportunities to enjoy life. Basically, her rallying cry is “Think Positive.”

Back at chez moi, planting up my pots, I resolved to do just that – think positive and enjoy life. Ben could sort out the Katie mess – it’s all his fault anyway. Hopefully Katie will eventually stop blaming me for the break-up and realise it was Ben who wanted his freedom, not me.

9th March.

Plucked up the courage today to go and apply for the job in the boutique I saw the other evening. What a hoot! A waste of time but a hoot.

Madame the owner – all tight white leather jeans, cropped top and gold jewellery – spoke a bit of English, so we ended up talking a broken Franglais with me trying to convince her I would be an asset with the foreign tourists. But she wasn’t having it.

‘Non, non, non,’ she said, wagging a scarlet tipped finger at me. ‘The clients Francais would no like you no speaking Francais. They would try to cheat me. They no buy from someone they laugh at.’

‘But the English would love being able to ask questions in their own language. And I’m sure my French would improve if I was using it every day.’

‘Non. Go away and learn le Francais. Peut-être in six months I give you a job.’ And with that I was firmly shown the shop door. Oh well, it’ll have to be Plan B then. Except I haven’t got a Plan B.

10th March.

On the home front, things have been quiet for a few days now. I’m holding my breath for the explosion that’s sure to happen. Katie was very subdued when I spoke to her last night, muttering something about her dad being a complete..... well we can agree on that. Didn’t realise she knew that word though!

12th March.

I’ve taken some great photos lately – think I’m getting the hang of loading them onto the computer. There’s one I took from the balcony two evenings ago that I particularly like. It’s of the sunset over the Esterel mountain range – the sky is so red it looks as if it’s on fire.

It’s Mimosa season down here. I managed to take one absolutely stunning photograph of the tree in the park. Brilliant yellow against the deep blue of the Cote d’Azur sky. It looks wonderful. Maybe I could start a new career as a photographer?

Probably not. Must admit to missing my old job though. I loved writing the women’s page features for the paper. Not that I wrote many of them in the last few years. I commissioned most of them from various freelancers.

DUH! It’s official. I am one stupid cow. Just had a light bulb moment as I typed that paragraph. I could be one of those freelancers. I don’t have to be in the UK to write for magazines do I? Next time I speak to Bella I’ll run the idea past her. Between us we should have loads of contacts.

She’s coming over for Easter at the end of the month. Jacques will be pleased. Can’t decide whether to tell him or let it be a surprise.

15th March.

Colette surprised me today after French conversation by asking me to have lunch with her. She wanted to pick my brains about moving to London. Where was the best to live. How expensive it was etc. She’s quite nice really. Gave her the names of a couple of contacts but told her not to be disappointed if they couldn’t help.

Before lunch we’d decided that she’d speak in English to me and I would answer her in French. That way we both got some language practice in.

Have to admit my head was hurting by the time we finished lunch. Only had two glasses of rosé so it couldn’t have been that giving me a headache. Must have been the effort of concentrating on finding all the right French words and phrases.

19th March.

I’ve invited Eliosa and Lotta for drinks and nibbles tomorrow evening. Definitely not just aperitifs as I’d quite like them to stay for longer than the prescribed hour. All evening would be good. This thing about having the freedom to do what I want, when I want, is all right but I do miss having family and friends to hang out with.

20th March.

Had a lovely evening with the neighbours. Must do it more often.

26th March.

Decided I’d better clean the apartment today, ready for Bella’s visit. Am now exhausted.

28th March.

Can’t wait for Bella to get here. I’ve done a proper food shop for the first time in weeks. The fridge is stuffed full with rosé, cheeses and other French delights. Including lots of green asparagus – my absolute favourite. Can’t understand the fuss the French make over the white stuff.

Bella’s doing the car hiring this time so I don’t have to go haring off to Nice to meet her. Expecting her to get to the apartment sometime after midday.

APRIL

April is turning into a busy month. It’s Easter this week and Bella has arrived. She’s managed to wangle a couple of extra days so will be here for over a week, which is great. We’ve both been surprised by how different Easter is here in France.

For a start, Easter Monday is the only official holiday – they don’t celebrate Good Friday at all. Which I find strange. But they still manage to make an extra long weekend out of the holiday.

I decided in the end not to tell Jacques about Bella coming, and his face when she walked into the bar on Thursday evening was worth it. He was cross with me though for not telling him Bella was coming. Said if he’d known he’d have arranged to have a day off to take her places. Didn’t mention me tagging along. Mmm, well sorry about that Jacques, but she’s my friend here to see me.

I did ask Bella if she wanted to spend time alone with him. She said ‘No, it’s too soon. Maybe in the summer.’ So I’ll tell him before Bella’s next visit, to see if he’s still keen. Think he will be. Kept making excuses to come over and talk to her.

We spent most of Thursday mooching around Cannes. Bella was desperate to see the Croisette and Rue d’Antibes – my god, that’s a long street! The shops though are amazing and far too enticing. Bella spent a fortune on clothes.

‘In my job I need them, Jess, and these are different to things I can find at home.’ Well that was her excuse anyway.

I bought some designer sunglasses and a pair of strappy sandals. Unlike Bella, I don’t have any excuse – other than I liked the sandals, and the sun seems to shine every day down here so shades come under the heading of necessities.

Had lunch in a small bistro tucked away in one of the back streets – moules and frites washed down with a bottle of rosé. Ran the idea of me freelancing and writing features for various magazines and newspapers past Bella. She’s all for it and has promised to pass the word around her contacts that I’m available. And of course I have a few myself in the magazine world.

When I said ‘So long as I can come up with enough ideas,’ Bella laughed.

‘You still writing your angsty diary?’

I nodded, ‘Yes. It’s definitely helping.’

‘Well there you go then, that’s as good a starting point as anything. You could always turn it into a proper blog and send it out into cyberspace. And Jessie? You are in the south of France. Look around you. I bet I can come up with at least ten ideas sitting here. For a start, anything to do with wine and food is always popular. French markets, out of the way places for tourists to discover, the architecture, the churches, the harbours, local ski resorts, the Film Festival, Monaco Grand Prix…’

I laughed. ‘OK I get the idea. Come on, let’s go and lust over the yachts.’

The yacht quay in Cannes, while nothing like the International Quay in Antibes – known to the locals as Millionaires’ Quay – still has some pretty impressive boats tied up to it, including the one Nino skippers.

We were walking along one of the walkways when we saw him sitting in the aft sundeck of a gleaming fibreglass motor cruiser. He raised a hand in greeting and called out, ‘You like to come on board? Have a look around?’

I was surprised he recognised me to be honest, but we were up the gangplank in seconds. A prominent notice hanging from the “Private. No Entry.” chain Nino lowered at the head of the gangplank instructed us to leave our shoes in the basket provided. We duly kicked them off and we were onboard.

‘Are we allowed?’ I asked anxiously. ‘What about your owner.’

‘Relax. There’s only me and two crew on board at the moment. Bruno the owner flies in tomorrow. Want to take a look around?’

We didn’t need asking twice and followed Nino into the main salon. All I can say is, whoever Bruno is, he certainly knows how to spend his money.

The yacht was a luxurious understatement of good taste. Cream carpet throughout and light coloured paneled walls. Original paintings were hung throughout the yacht – including a couple by Picasso and Georges Braque. In the salon, a glass topped dining table surrounded by twelve chairs held a large arrangement of lilies in a huge silver gourd shaped vase. As for the three bathrooms, all marble and gold, they were to die for.

By the time we were admiring the exquisite Lalique screen in the main salon we were both – for want of a better word – somewhat gobsmacked at the sheer opulence of it all.

When we returned to the aft deck there was an ice bucket with a bottle of champagne nestling in it, three glasses and a tray of bite-sized nibbles.

‘Sit,’ Nino instructed. ‘I open the champagne. Help yourselves to the food.’

I couldn’t stop myself asking, ‘Nino, are you sure this is ok? What if your owner turns up early?’

‘It’s not a problem Jessica. As capitane, when he is not here I have freedom to welcome certain people on board. Who knows, maybe one day you may wish to charter the yacht.’

Expertly he twisted the cork out of the bottle with a satisfyingly loud pop, before pouring the pale amber liquid into the glasses.

‘If you’re sure,’ I murmured, accepting the glass he handed me. ‘But I shouldn’t hold your breath about us ever chartering the yacht.’

Nino shrugged. ‘No worries.’

Sitting out there on the aft deck in the sunshine, savouring the champagne and laughing with Bella and Nino, the real world faded away. I mean, I know people with real money live a life a world away from the rest of us – but I’d never before appreciated just how different it could be. Fancy being able to take that kind of lifestyle for granted. Not something that is likely to happen for me.

Nino told us how he spent the summer months motoring up and down the Med. ‘Bruno likes to visit Corsica and Sardinia. We see a lot of Italy too – especially Portofino. Occasionally we go to Greece but we’re always here in our home port in May for the Film Festival, before moving on to Monaco for the Grand Prix. After that, we’re all over the place.’

Bella told him about my plans to write some features for UK magazines.

‘I help if I can,’ Nino said. ‘I ‘ave lots of the contacts here. You have a Press Pass for the festival? Lots of parties. I get you invites.’

‘Thank you. Not sure how difficult it will be to get a Press Pass but I’ll definitely try,’ I said.

‘Wish I could wrangle a visit next month,’ Bella said. ‘Sounds like I’m going to be missing out.’

An hour later, when the last of the champagne had been drained, we stood up to leave.

‘Jessica, have you seen Tante Eliosa recently?’ Nino asked as we put on our shoes.

‘Not for a few days, but she’s coming to supper on Sunday evening to meet Bella.’

‘Bon. It is good she has a friend in the building.’ He pulled a card out of his jeans pocket. ‘I give you this – my mobile number – s’il y a there’s an emergency with Eliosa and you need help.’

‘Sure. Hope I never have to use it,’ I said, putting Nino’s card in my bag. Knowing my luck, he’d be out at sea somewhere and not available.

On the train back to Juan-les-Pins, Bella teased me about Nino. ‘He’s quite the hunk. D’you fancy a fling with him?’

‘Mmm. Could do. He’s probably got a girlfriend already,’ I said. ‘Must meet lots of glamorous women in his job.’

3rd April.

Been thinking about Bella’s suggestion of turning this diary into a proper blog and sending it out into cyberspace. Not sure I’m ready for that yet. I know I’d censor my ramblings if I thought other people were reading it, and the whole point of my angsty diary is to write my true thoughts down.

But she’s right when she says there’s so much to write about down here. Think I’ll start with the idea of writing some travel and lifestyle features about the Riviera.

4th April.

Today we walked to the market in Antibes to buy some treats for Sunday evening’s supper. It was crowded as usual but for once everybody was happy and polite – sometimes they are so bad tempered and rude you wouldn’t believe.

Felt a bit sad looking at all the wonderful Easter eggs displayed on the chocolatier’s stand. Normally back home I buy a large calorific one filled with chocolate liqueurs, which Katie and I would pig out on. The days are long gone when I used to organise an Easter egg hunt in the garden for her.

Ben hates chocolate so he usually got a bottle of decent wine – which we’d allow him to share with us over Sunday lunch. Felt strange this year sending Katie the money to buy her own Easter egg.

Couldn’t resist buying two fluffy yellow ducks holding baskets full of tiny chocolate mallow eggs. ‘One each for tomorrow,’ I said, seeing Bella’s look. ‘It’s Easter. You’ve gotta indulge in chocolate at Easter. It’s the law.’ I bought a chocolate duck wearing a top hat and carrying a cane for Eliosa. Think she’ll find it amusing.